We build with hands, we dream with hearts,
We stitch together broken parts.
In every soul, a spark, a flame
A whispered song, a sacred name.
We laugh, we weep, we mend, we try,
We plant our hope beneath the sky.
And in each gaze, a world begins
A million losses, a thousand wins.
If we but look, just still and true
We’d see the light in me, in you.
For humankind, in all its grace,
Is stardust walking, face to face.
JH
He came with a grin like a curtain call,
A crown of lies, a voice too tall.
He promised light, he sold the stars,
Then paved the streets with prison bars.
He whispered sweet to aching pride,
“You’ve been forgotten, cast aside.”
He kissed the flag with fevered lips,
While freedom sank in sinking ships.
He fed the rich, he starved the poor,
Then blamed the weak, and locked the door.
A gilded cage he called a dream,
Where justice choked on silent screams.
He built a throne on blame and spite,
Turned neighbours into things to fight.
He made the truth a bitter joke,
Then laughed as bridges turned to smoke.
His name in lights, his hands in gold,
He sold the past, the brave, the bold.
And though the world around him burns,
He spins and smiles, and the crowd still turns.
For some are blind, not by the night,
But by a man who dims the light.
A showman’s charm, a hollow hymn
The country bows, but not to Him.
JH
A shadow creeps where light once lay,
A poison seeps into the day.
Once hands were clasped in human grace,
Now fear divides and scars replace.
The echoes of the past return,
Old lessons are taught, yet none we learn.
They build their walls, they mark their lines,
With hollow words and hollow spines.
And watch as justice bends and falls.
They paint their hatred in disguise,
Yet we see through their veiled replies.
The colour fades from hopeful dreams,
Replaced by cold and broken schemes.
A love once free is bound in chains,
As tyranny reclaims its reigns.
But still, we rise; we will not bow,
Not then, not ever—not now.
For love will burn through the darkest night,
And truth will stand, and truth will fight.
So let them shout, let them conspire,
We’ll fan the flames, ignite the fire.
For though they try to make us small,
Love and justice rise for all.
JH
In the pixel-light of early March, the city thaws like a slow computer, its grayness buffering into green.
Pavements sprout people, no longer bundled, flaunting bare wrists and ankles as if freed from their own parentheses.
The parks reboot, rendering grass in high definition, the kind you can almost feel tickling your palms.
Sunlight lingers, a cursor blinking later into the evening, prompting us to write our plans outside the lines.
Café chairs clatter open like pop-up ads, promising fresh air with your coffee, and the buzz of conversation over code.
Blossoms gather on once barren branches, a glitch in the system that welcomes a crash of petals, pink and white against the cityscape.
Each breeze carries a pop-up notification, reminding us to update our lives— winter’s drear swapped for spring’s wallpaper,
And we, too eager to click accept, update our smiles, step into the renewal, let the season load us into its vibrant new scene.
JH
Artwork By Julan
Julan62 